The Home
by fiir . verdepol
Summary: /No Longer Accepting Characters!/  Who are you? I am Nobody. Who are you? Are you, Nobody too? \\ They weren't crazy. But nobody would ask their opinion on that.
1. Chapter One : The Wall

**The Home**

**All Disclaimers Implied**

**Notes:** Accepting OCs; only states~ See the bottom **Notes** for profiles and stuff.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter One<strong>

Lani stared at the wall across from her. It was completely white, though she could imagine things on it. Things like faces, trees, flowers…

That was easy for her; always has been.

_They called her crazy. Locked her up in this blank little room full of white…It wasn't fair._

She closed her eyes softly, an explosion of green and red and maybe a little bit of blue happening behind her eyelids. Heaving a big sigh as she drummed her fingers on her metal chair, she briefly wondered what time it was. There were no clocks in here. It's only been a little while since her last meal, as evidenced by the partially empty tray in the corner.

That was her breakfast. Time went so slowly when she had absolutely nothing to do.

See, she was born 'normal'; at least, that's what everyone whispers behind her back. She was normal little Lani Akoni Lolotai, the daughter of a beautiful lady who looks nice in white and a sociable man who wears suits a lot.

Then she was diagnosed with insanity.

Her family disowned her then. Her own mother couldn't even bare to think of her. Father was so ashamed. All because of insanity.

She wasn't even crazy. But they blamed her, because, _of course_ a sixteen year old who has been cooped up her entire life with no friends but those of her imagination simply out of her businessman of a father's fear would be to blamed.

As if she had a say in any of those things.

No, she wasn't crazy. And even if she was, she wasn't to blame for it.

She wasn't.

So why was she forced to be cooped up here?

Lani sighed again, opening her eyes. Her sight was greeted by a blank white wall. Just like always, she never had a say in anything. Who would ask for a simple little girl's opinion anyways?

Nobody.

* * *

><p><strong>Notes:<strong> If you want to submit a state, here is the profile template form submission…thingy. Yeah… .

**Name: **_Easy enough; human name - please be informed that if you use 'Jones' and someone else used it before you, I will have to take the first person to use it. The same goes for 'Williams' and etc._

**State: **_What state does s/he represent? It will be used as a home state; use a city if you want to_

**Age: **_You can pick any age, but no younger than fifteen and no older than twenty_

**Appearance: **_How does s/he look like? You can include height and weight if you want. _(Forgot about this...thanks for reminding me, Annalyra~)

**Reason for being at the Home: **_If you want, put in a disease that would have someone in an asylum; otherwise just put 'Insanity'_

**Personality: **_What is s/he like usually? When their temper flares or when they're depressed? When they're hiding something or what they're like when they're trying to act normal?_

**Family: **_Parents, sisters, brothers, guardians, sons, daughters…? And what is their relationship with them?_

**Back Story: **_Why are they the way they are today? What made them act in a way that people see them as 'insane'?_

**Other:**_ Anything else you want to add?_

Lani is **Hawaii**, from **America**, so that state is taken already. And, if you want to have a **pairing, **just add it along with the rest of the profile template form submission thingy. ^^

**(( T h a n k s ~ fiir . verdepol ))**


	2. Chapter Two: White

**The Home**

**All Disclaimers Implied**

**Notes: **Sorry for the long wait. I had trouble with this, sort of. I'm going by order I got the characters, okay? So, if you want to change anything, just tell me and I'll fix it.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Two<strong>

Carrie Jones whistled lightly as she walked through the endless halls of the hospital. White, white, white, white – oh, a color poster! Then it was white again and again…

Well. This was boring.

She sighed to herself and took a look around to see which part of the hospital she was in. Each door number had an 'E' in front of it, so it was the East Wing. One door was _E-303L_, meaning she was in the Ls of the East Wing.

_E-303L_. 'E' for East, '30' for the room number, '3' for general insanity, and 'L' for the last name. Carrie's been here for three years too many if she can memorize what each letter and number stood for. Then again, she always was a smart kid. And she _still is_, no matter what those condescending, smiling aides whispered behind her back. She wasn't even a kid anymore, she was twenty. Just because she looked seventeen didn't mean she was…

Oh, she wanted to be in Massachusetts again.

Here, they didn't let her do much. And she tried to be polite about that, really, but some of the doctors and the majority of the nurses just got on her nerves. So condescending with their little smirks and secretive attitude. Carrie wanted to be in a hospital, but not like this. No, she wanted to be a _real_ doctor, like the ones who made patients feel better. These doctors were so…

_Cold and distant._

If only they didn't confiscate the radio from last time. She'll have to ask one of the nicer nurses to give her more paper and a pencil. Carrie could feel a headache from all this white coming on. She pursed her lips and began walking back to her room, _W-156J_.

The number system here was strange.

Her thoughts brought her back to the room, _E-303L. _That was that one girl; Lani Akoni Lolotai, wasn't it? She was sent here when she was young and her story was pretty sad too. It wasn't that different compared to all the other patients. Rich parents - _like her - _lonely childhood - _like her. _The only differences were the details - Carrie took care of two younger siblings herself.

_Cold and distant. Just like her parents. _What difference did it make in the end?

* * *

><p>Her room was white and bland. Who would blame a girl if she wanted to add a little…<em>color<em>? And right now, Emma Gale grinned at her masterpiece. (Well, it was no Michelangelo, but still, it was a step-up from the white room.) Each wall was a different color; the one with the door was teal with dark blue vertical stripes. To the right of it was a green wall with a pattern of a big red dot and smaller dots surrounding it. The wall she was facing had pink flowers on a purple backdrop and the final wall had black and white checkers.

Well, she was pretty proud. And she managed to do this without anyone noticing! Tinny the Tin man smiled up at her in satisfaction as well. Charlie the Pink Unicorn was sleeping next to the checkered wall with Denzo the Flying Bear. How cute.

_At least they didn't leave her._

Emma knew that they were things of her mind. But still, it was nice to have some company. _S-274G_ would have been lonely without them. In fact, there might have been a completely different person here. And Julia might not be so lonely either.

Ah, Julia. The only family member of hers left that still liked her (and the like was returned in kind). The little girl didn't know much about her older sister, but it was still sweet of her to write and send in pictures. She had even mentioned that she might visit one day.

That'd be nice, wouldn't it? She'd have some actual company other than those cold doctors and the distant nurses and the patients that had their own problems. A clank from her side interrupted her thoughts and she turned her attention to Tinny. She gave him a slightly apologetic smile. "You're good company too!" she reassured him.

"Miss Ga-_oh_ my Lord!"

She turned around at the sudden voice, her friends instantly disappearing. A nurse stood there, the tray she had once held in her hands on the ground and her eyes almost as big as the 'o' her mouth was making. Emma gave her a cheerful smile. "Hi Nurse Carlton! How are you today?"

The nurse fixed her light green eyes on Emma with a glare. "You- how did you even get paint in here!" Her hands were placed on her hips and her pink lips were pulled down in a deep frown. She was the type that didn't need make-up she realized, cocking her head to the side and ignoring the question.

"Did you do something new with your hair today, Nurse Carlton?"

* * *

><p>Sighing, Emmaline Briggs stared down at the wood grains in the student desk, silently tracing them. It was her one-on-one time with Doctor Eddsen and the man just sat there and stared at her with his deep brown eyes.<p>

The Doctor wasn't half-bad, really. He at least tried to get to know his patients on a more personal basis. He was nice and kind too, cheerful as well. "So…do you want to say anything?" At her shake, he hesitantly added, "Anything at all?" Another shake of the head had him sighing. "Then I suppose it's no use to continue." He closed his empty notepad and got up, giving her a smile. "I'll see you next time then."

Emmaline nodded quietly and slipped out of the room. Why can't she do anything right? She saw the disappointed look in the Doctor's eyes and she knew how the nurses and the doctors talked about her. She let a sigh pass through her lips; she'd have to shelve books or fold her clothes or something…

Her OCD tendencies were a fairly legitimate reason for being at the home. But really, who wants to be at a hospital for those declared 'mentally insane'? The aides here were enough to get under your skin on the first day, and the other patients barely had enough time to care about you. If they weren't kept apart because of their own problems, they certainly were due to those aides. Emmaline let out another sigh as she shuffled back to her room, _N-192. _'N' for North, '19' as her room number, and '2' for disorders.

The number system they used here weren't all that hard to understand. '1' for public danger, '2' for disorders, '3' for general insanity, and '4' for the rest. It just took a week to memorize, really.

A week. Someone could probably memorize it faster than that. She just doesn't do well enough, does she? Emmaline's footsteps slowed subconsciously. Everything was her fault, _her fault, __her fault_...

She snapped out of her thoughts and looked around. Somehow she had managed to wander from the Main Hall to the South Wing; no where _near_ her room. Emmaline let out a third sigh. Damn it.

Why couldn't she do anything right?

Turning around, she started to shuffle off back to her room - halfway across the building now - with depressing thoughts swirling in her mind. Without paying attention, she accidentally bumped into someone else (with an extremely thin frame). Emmaline started spilling out 'sorries', looking up into dark brown eyes. The woman, clearly older than her, starting laughing. "It's fine Emmaline!" Xieu Wun Wang, or as she went by in America; Vivian, patted her shoulder with her skinny hand.

Emmaline gave a small smile. Well, at least not _all_ the patients avoided everyone.

* * *

><p><strong>Notes: <strong>Yeah, it's short…sorry about that. ^^;

So, did I get the characters right? That was part of why it took me trouble. Anyways! Here are the states already taken:

_Massachusetts – _Carrie Jones

_Kansas – _Emma Gale

_Missouri – _Emmaline Briggs

_Hainan _(Ooo, China! XD)

_California _(I have two for this one)

_Nevada_

_Texas_

_Quebec_

_North Carolina_

_South Carolina_

Other than that, all other states are still free game. Keep sending in characters and tell me if I screw them up ('cause I know I'll do that somewhere along the way). Also, if you guys have any suggestions for the next chapter, go ahead and tell me~

[To tell the truth, I don't really know where I'm going with this story anyways. Like, maybe there's an evil mastermind behind the Home using it as a front for something? I dunno...]


	3. Chapter Three: Charcoaled Lumps

**The Home**

**All Disclaimers Implied**

**Notes: **I have a question for you all: should I make this with an actual plot or just an almost-drabble-fic? I'm kind of stumped of what to do after all the characters are introduced. That brings me to the next point; the next few chapters will be about introducing the patients, so expect them to be **short**! Sorry in advance.

**Pairings** I have so far are:

_California _(North/Lucas/the boy one) x _Nevada_

_Texas _x _Quebec_

If the rest of you want to have pairings, just say so~ The **characters** I have so far are:

_Massachusetts _– Carrie Jones

_Kansas _– Emma Gale

_Missouri _– Emmaline Briggs

_Hainan _– Xieu Wun "Vivian" Wang

[_North_] _California_ – Lucas Alejandro Gomez

_Nevada _– Ian Luis Rodriguez

_Texas _– William Andrew Duncan

_Quebec _– Jacques Beaumont Williams

[_South_] _California_

_North Carolina_

_South Carolina_

_Alaska_

* * *

><p><strong>|| Chapter T<strong>**hree ||**

N-242 was a quiet sort of room, she supposed, staring up at the ceiling. Xieu Wun Wang lay on her bed, tapping her fingers softly on the mattress. Her dark black hair fanned out on the bed. She held up her arm, her hand facing the ceiling. Wrapping her hand around the upper part of her arm, she was easily able to touch her pinky finger with her thumb.

Sighing, she let her arms fall back to their original positions, staring up at the whitewhtiewhite ceiling again. In America, she went by Vivian; a name she had like when she was thirteen. She had seen it on a paper in the Home's main office and instantly taken a liking to it.

That was when she was thirteen. Now she was twenty, which made it…seven long years since Vivian had first stepped foot in America. Seven years…Jia Long would probably be sixteen right now, Xing Li would be seventeen, Hua Mei would be fifteen…

It had been so long.

She sighed again, sitting up straight and running a hand through her hair. She glanced out the window. It was still pretty sunny, so it was probably noon-ish. She climbed out of her bed, slipping on her flats. Vivian hated walking around barefoot, something left over from her mother's insistence of wearing slippers inside the household.

In the hallways, she managed to slip by some of the nurses and doctors without afny of them talking to her. Nurse Hedervary and Doctor Beilschmidt were easy to do so; they were arguing again. Well, at least Nurse Lupei and Doctor Edelstein weren't there at the moment – they would all be at each other throats then.

Her brother wanted to be a doctor, the last he had talked to her about it.

Vivian subconsciously rubbed her wrists, blankly walking down the hallways.

Let's see…Doctor Eddsen was having his session with the patient in the room a few doors down from her; N-192. Doctor Edelstein was probably taking care of the kid from Sacramento that killed at fifteen. Nurse Lupei was on her rounds for the patients she was assigned to, handing out needed medicine. Obviously, Nurse Hedervary and Doctor Beilschmidt weren't really doing their jobs.

There were two Doctor Beilschmidts, one being the egoistic albino and the other being the younger stick-in-the-mud blonde. It was interesting to see their dynamic, she supposed.

Lunch was coming up, so she'd probably hide out in her room. If they try to make her eat, she'd probably go ballistic and shut herself in her room afterwards for a week.

Vivian turned the corner, instantly colliding with someone sort-of shorter than her. She blinked as the other one was slightly freaking out, saying a lost of 'sorries'. She simply smiled, patting Emmaline Briggs on the shoulders. Wow, the sixteen year old looked _way_ healthier than her.

"It's fine Emmaline!" The girl smiled in return, a bit nervously. Well, hanging around the cafeteria but not eating would be a step in the right direction in the Home's staff's eyes. "Say, wanna go to lunch together?"

The teen blinked in confusion. "I– it's already lunch time?"

"Almost, yeah," Vivian answered. She blinked, rubbing at her eyes. She had been staring at the white ceiling for too long; everyone's skin looked almost sickly with purple and blue. "C'mon," she grinned, pulling along her newly found companion.

* * *

><p>Luke Alejandro Gomez couldn't touch anything that could potentially wound someone. He couldn't even be given a normal room for fear of injuring himself. His room was padded and so was his bed. It made everything quite comfortable even, if only it weren't <em>just<em> white.

"Did they abuse you?"

Same questions every time.

He shook his head silently, just like always. Doctor Edelstein sighed, tapping the edge of his pen against the clipboard. Edelstein was Austrian, like that Arnold Schwarzenegger guy – _that_ guy was pretty cool. Edelstein was a stick-in-the-mud (though he wouldn't let Nurse Hedervary hear that; he liked his head to be void of brain tumors and horrid bumps, thank you very much).

"Why did you kill them?"

Luke shrugged, not changing his outward disposition. In his head, he thought about why he did it. But there was no use on dwelling on it; it was already done. "Can I go now? It's almost lunch." Doctor Edelstein sighed but nodded, waving his hand at Luke, who grinned and left the room.

God knows how much he hated his therapy sessions. At least Doctor Edelstein's room was close by Ian's.

After each appointment, he would walk down to Ian's room, knock on the door, throw his arm around his friend, and walk down to the cafeteria for lunch. Ian didn't talk much, but Luke was comfortable by just talking himself.

But if Ian was in his little 'moods', then he would stay locked up in his room. Sometimes he'd let Luke in, though most of the times, Ian preferred to not let anyone in (read: refused to see anyone). Today, apparently, Ian was feeling a bit chatty. In fact, he was the first to initiate the conversation.

"I got some letters from kids that were back in the orphanage," he muttered softly, his hands in his jacket pockets. Luke grinned, patting Ian's shoulder.

"Well, good on you dude!" Ian slipped him a rare little smile before his face turned back to neutral. "So, do you know what slop they're serving in the cafeteria today?" There was the stereotype of horrible cafeterias, and then there was _their_ cafeteria. Why they hired such a terrible cook in the first place was a mystery to them all.

"Isn't it Meatloaf Monday?" They both frowned and shuddered at the mental image of the meatloaf. "Hopefully, there'll be some mashed potatoes or something by one of the assistants."

Ian was seventeen; two years younger than Luke. In terms of appearance, they were just about exact opposites; Ian with dark brown hair and blue eyes and Luke with dirty blonde hair and green eyes. "Amazingly enough, no one has died from the eating of burnt coal." Luke shook his head. "Does he even _try_? Seriously, Kirkland is horrible at cooking."

To tell the truth, if it weren't for Ian, Luke would have busted out of the Home the day after he was admitted. The boy with the Avoidant Personality disorder had, for a lack of better words, captured his interest since the first time Luke saw him.

Lord, did he sound cheesy to himself right then.

* * *

><p>Lunch looked like something from the rear end of a cow burnt up and fried. Well, at least to him. William Andrew Gomez tried to stab it with a fork but ended up bending the metal. He sighed, a grimace pulling at his lips. He had to <em>eat<em> this? Hell, he wouldn't try to feed it to his worst enemies. He looked over at Jacques, who had pushed the food away and was simply staring at the table with a blank expression.

"Day-dreamin' again, Jacques?" he asked, pushing his food away as well. The doctors and nurses were damn lucky that they could bring their own food.

His Quebecoise friend blinked and looked up, with wide eyes. Shrugging, he asked, "How's the parents?" William grinned, perking up. Unlike other patients in the Home, he managed to stay on good terms with his parents.

"They're good. They mentioned that they bought some more guns and told me that they'd let me try 'em out at the shootin' range when I get out." And from there, William continued to chatter on about the guns they bought while Jacques resumed his blank staring at the table. The Texan knew he was listening though; last time he questioned it, Jacques managed to spew out every word he said, _plus_ the accent.

"Will," Jacques interrupted, not looking up. "Tone it down, will you?" William gave a sheepish smile before continuing on about his parents' visit. For a twenty year old, he was quite cheerful, Jacques thought. "When is the next time you get to leave for another 'vacation'?"

"A year or somethin'," William replied, picking up his bent fork to try some mashed potatoes. "Maybe I could sneak ya out again." He flashed the blonde a grin, causing Jacques to chuckle softly.

"Non; remember what happened the last time?"

"It was fun! But I think Ma nearly got a heart attack or somethin' when they kicked down the door. Seriously, they go to extreme measures when it comes to the insane, don't they?" William laughed at the memory while Jacques shook his head, a small smile still on his lips. "I only wish they would let me shoot out doing open season. I miss tryin' to shoot at moose and stuff."

"Don't forget _ours_," Jacques commented, inclining his head. "Isn't that why you were put here in the first place?"

William gave a sheepish grin. "The dude lived! He shouldn't have been in a bear suit in the first place!" he defended himself. Jacques shook his head before they fell back into a comfortable silence again.

Of all the rooms in the Home, the cafeteria had to be the most colorful, with its imported murals and souvenir paintings. The half-full vending machines were still positioned around the cafeteria, banned by the request of the more health-conscious around; mocking them while they ate charcoaled lumps of inedibility.

The fact that nearly all the patients congregated here made it all that more lively.

"I sort of like the Home," William muttered softly to himself. Jacques raised an eyebrow.

"Did you actually digest the food or something?"

* * *

><p><strong>Notes: <strong>I need a beta or something. -.- Reading through the entire things twice is a bit exasperating.

Sorry about the long wait. I took yokolite's suggestion of making sure the nations are in here, since they were going to have just tiny-itsy-bitsy appearances that you'd have to turn your head so fast to see them. ^^; Nurse Carlton and Doctor Eddsen from the previous chapter will probably be the only 'regular' OCs (meaning that, they don't represent any city, state, country, etcetera).

You can always still add more characters if you've already submitted one! :D So don't be afraid to~ Thanks for reading!

**(( Thanks ~ fiir . verdepol ))**


	4. Chapter Four: Music

**The Home**

**All Disclaimers Implied**

**Notes: **So, I was looking through the review page and I found that I missed a character! :O I am so, so, so, so, so, so, _so_ sorry FranceGirl; I think my email was being derpy or something. =.= Anyways, now I have an **Ohio** to add to the list. In this chapter, **Ohio**, **South California**, **Alaska**, **South Carolina**, and **North Carolina **will be introduced and that's the last of them so far. Thanks for all your patience! Again, sorry FranceGirl; I completely missed Ohio [I am so ashamed…DX]

The song that Alice sings is 'Almost Lover' by A Fine Frenzy, 'Be My Escape' by Relient K, 'The Way I Loved You' by Taylor Swift, 'I've Got Soul but I'm not a Soldier' by the Killers

Thanks to **Firey-Nii-Wolf** for being my awesome beta (I ended up posting this without waiting for your betaing of the second part; sorry!) and those that offered~ And now I have a vague idea for a plot thanks to **yokolite**. Yay! :D

* * *

><p><strong>|| C<strong>**hapter Four ||**

Scribbling on some paper, Alice Sinclair was quietly singing under her breath. Lunch had been over and the trash bins were all full of weird black coals. She had an hour to kill until her group therapy session with Doctor Edelstein and those two twin patients.

"_Well, I never wanted to see you unhappy. I thought you'd want the same for me…_" She trailed off into silence, the only sounds coming from her pencil-on-paper. She was drawing a bouquet, with sunflowers and daises. Her entire room was covered with drawings, taped to the walls here and there. She refused to let any of the nurses touch them for fear of having them smudge the art.

Alice wasn't really sure why she was in the Home. All _she_ had was short-term memory, and that wasn't much to be locked up and branded insane, was it? Her room was E-092 and she knew that '2' was for the patients with disorders. What disorder did she have?

Well, obviously, it wasn't bad enough for private therapy sessions because she managed to get into a group session instead.

Sitting up from her position on her stomach, she leaned against the edge of her bed, examining her work. Oh, she liked it; better than the previous three tries anyways. Alice stood up and taped it to a spot on the wall. She wished she had some color pencils; perhaps she could ask someone to give some to her.

Everything seemed so dull and blank in the Home.

With about fifty more minutes to go until her group therapy, Alice decided to walk around the Home. The hallways were long and white, sure, but they let anyone who walked them aimlessly actually _think_. Again, she began to quietly sing under her breath.

"_I am a hostage to my own humanity, self-detained and forced to live in this mess I've made. And all I'm asking is for you to do what you can with me, but I can't ask you to give what you already gave…_" A tiny sigh escaped her lips as she ran a hand through her hair.

"_He respects my space and never makes me wait and he calls exactly when he says he would. He's close to my mother and talks business to my father; he's charming and endearing and I'm comfortable…_"

"Singing in the hallway, Miss Sinclair?"

She blinked and turned around to find Nurse Hedervary smiling at her. "Ah, hello Nurse Hedervary," she greeted quietly. Shyness burst in her and she played with her fingers behind her back. "I-is it time for my session already?"

The Hungarian brunette shook her head. "No, I was just making my rounds. You have about forty minutes, though." As she passed, she pointedly motioned her head towards a room number; W-156J. Alice sucked in a breath. The rec-room was about thirty minutes away from _her_ room, but now that she was lost…

Sighing, Alice began walking backwards. Under her breath, she softly sang, "_I've got soul, but I'm not a soldier. I've got soul, but I'm not a soldier_…"

No, no, no; she wasn't crazy. She was _perfectly sane_.

(Then again, no one is 'perfect' so who could be 'perfectly sane'?)

* * *

><p>June Carla Bernand sat by her twin sister, Asia Rosalind who usually went by Rosie. "We're always <em>early<em>, June," Rosie muttered softly. "It's a bit sad." The older of the two simply grinned at Rosie, shrugging.

"Eh, who cares?" She looped her arm with Rosie's, swinging her legs back and forth under her chair. "What do you think is going to happen this time 'round? Doctor Edelstein might play music, don't 'cha think?" June's smile widened.

Out of the two of them, June was the older one (by a minute) and talked enough for the both of them. Rosie was normally the shy girl who hid behind her slightly older sister, not speaking unless she felt the need to.

However, the two of them had that cliché sort of adage going for them that there was 'more to them than it seemed on the surface'. Of course, they were at the Home, which made it quite clear. They were branded as 'insane'.

"Miss Sinclair is running late," Rosie muttered softly. June blinked and looked around for the third patient in their group.

"Oh, yeah. I wonder what happened." June stopped swinging her legs, stretching them out before her. "Alice is usually here before the Doc. Do you think she got lost or somethin'?" She looked around again, seeing nurses and a few doctors, as well as other patients.

"Perhaps," Rosie answered. "There is about ten minutes left until the session."

Alice slipped into the room then, glad that it took less time from the west wing to the rec-room than from her room. "H-hello," she greeted the twins softly. "You two are always early."

Again, June shrugged and replied with, "Eh, who cares?" Rosie gave Alice a small smile, quietly greeting her. "South an' I were wonderin' where you were. Did ya get lost?" Her voice was light with her southern accent.

Sheepishly, Alice nodded, taking her seat. "Has Doctor Edelstein told you what we are doing today?" The twins shook their heads together.

"North thinks we might be listening to his music again," Rosie told her. Alice knew enough to know that the twins called each other 'North' and 'South', for some reason. "Perhaps you can sing…?"

They watched as Alice paled just slightly. "No, no, I only sing very quietly and to myself." She shook her head. June grinned and slapped Alice on the back a bit harshly, causing the latter to nearly buck over.

"Aw, don't worry! I'm sure no one will make ya sing if ya don't wanna!" June exclaimed. "'Sides, I think Doctor Edelstein's too much of a stuck-up to let someone sing to his music other than Nurse Hedervary."

"Oh really?"

June squeaked and whipped around, facing Doctor Edelstein's raised eyebrow. The trio could see tiny angry huffs coming out of him. June felt a tiny sense of dread in her chest as she laughed nervously.

"S-see, when I said 'stuck-up', w-what I really meant was…err, you tell 'im South!" She pushed her sister towards the unamused Austrian doctor. Rosie gulped, freezing.

"Uhm…"

Alice resisted the urge to smile behind them.

* * *

><p>Glancing at her down-to-the-nub fingernails, Elisabeth Founders laid on her bed. Her session had been that morning. As a selective mute, she was able to think a lot, though her thoughts mostly dealt with her depression. Her depression led to her inability to not have anything that could hurt her, such as long nails.<p>

Thus, fingernails that were down to the nub.

She wasn't allowed out of her room without some supervision. Her entire room was padded so that she couldn't hurt herself. With all the white in the room, it slightly made it even more depressing for Elisabeth.

She came from Ohio, she knew. Or at least, it was the most logical conclusion she could think of. Elisabeth never knew her parents but knew that she had a brother. Sometimes, when she didn't have much else to think about, her thoughts would always wonder to her family.

Were her parents still alive? Why did they leave her? The aides at the orphanage told her that she was found in an alley when she was around four. Turning over onto her stomach and reaching under her bed, Elisabeth pulled out a slightly folded up picture. It was her brother, at least she thought so. She wondered if he was looking for her.

Sighing, Elisabeth put the picture back, rolling back into her previous recumbent position. Staring at the ceiling, she thought again of the Home.

She's been here for six months and six months were too long for her. Sure, she hurt herself and she had severe depression but she'd much rather have stayed in the orphanage. What if someone from her family came looking for her there? They wouldn't find her there and then what? Would they give up there? If they did, then she could never hope to find her family.

Did Elisabeth even _want_ to find her family again?

She sighed again, turning over and pressing her face into her pillow – which was _white_, of course. Running her fingers through her red hair, she realized that she should probably brush it; it was all tangled and everything. Then she remembered that she wasn't allowed to have a comb. Elisabeth frowned before turning over onto her back.

She was _insane_, but she soon will be if she is kept up in this too-white room any longer. Her stomach was churning and Elisabeth really hoped that her monthly friend hadn't visited her.

Though, it would add some red to this white.

(Ew, no – that'd be _disgusting_. Blech.)

Elisabeth drummed her fingers on her bed as she felt a wave of hopelessness wash over her. Great, on top of all her problems, she was now facing her period, _again_. Being a technical orphan was bad enough, being shut up in an asylum was even worse, and being basically trapped in a white room was the worst. Add a period to the list and her life was currently miserable.

Not to mention the white clothes they made them wear.

She felt like screaming; like throwing a tantrum and shouting and punching and kicking and inevitably getting what she wanted: to be able to _leave_ this _insane_ Home for those branded _insane_. She felt sick.

Or maybe that was just the period talking.

* * *

><p>Vera Braginski watched blankly as Emma, one of the only ones who could touch her, dragged her around the rec-room. Emma was talking quite rapidly; apparently she had painted her room and got into trouble with the staff. Now she had to stay in the rec-room (under close supervision from Nurse Lupei) while they repainted her room white.<p>

In Vera's opinion, they should really let them paint their rooms.

"I heard you left more blood in cups for the nurses," Emma stated, eyes wide. Vera nodded in response. "You really scared them. I heard the screams from the new nurse."

"She quit," Vera told her quietly. Emma blinked and shrugged.

"Oh well," Emma muttered. Then she paused, as if someone was talking to her and she was listening quite intently. "Tinny says that you shouldn't scare people so much; you already do because of your appearance." Then she frowned, glaring at the space to her right. "Tinny! That wasn't a nice thing to say." Emma turned to her left and paused for a moment before giggling. "Yes, Charlie, I guess so."

Vera blinked, unsure of what to say. She settled on sitting down on a chair, causing Emma to do so as well. That, of course, caused another conversation.

"Oh, Tinny, Charlie, it doesn't matter who sits next to who. She paused and then frowned again. "Well then, if you two aren't going to stop fighting, then _Denzo_ will have to sit next to me." A soft smile appeared on her lips as she turned her focus to the chair next to her.

Meanwhile, Vera was watching her friend interact with her imaginative friends. Confused as to what she was to do, she turned her attention to her arms. The nurses and doctors would rather have them covered with bandages and some sort of cream for scars. Of course, she refused vehemently; they'd have to _touch_ her to do that.

And hell knew how she hated for _anyone_ to do that.

She looked around the rec-room, seeing a group therapy in session, a game of table tennis going on between Vivian Wang and Carrie Jones, and a few nurses going in and out of the main office for medicine. On a shelf in the office, Vera could see the radio, one of the many confiscated items. She frowned. Vera rather liked the music.

"Vera?" A finger tapped her shoulder. Fortunately, she recognized Emma's touch enough to not snap, but she still tensed.

"Yeah?" she muttered.

"You look like you're glaring at the office. I think the nurses are getting a bit scared." Vera blinked and looked at the nurses in the office who did look a bit freaked out. She shrugged.

"Oh well," she waved it off. "You should get me some of the paint you got." Emma smiled but shook her head.

"Nah, I don't think that the nurse would try and risk it again any time soon. I guess we're all going to have to stick with the white for now."

Vera sighed. "Fine, I guess." She'll just have to stick with scaring the nurses.

* * *

><p><strong>Notes: <strong>Okay, so **yokolite** has brought it to my attention that I need more boys. So if anyone wants to submit guys, feel free to. :D Submitted **characters **I have up to this point are:

_Massachusetts _– Carrie Jones

_Kansas _– Emma Gale

_Missouri _– Emmaline Briggs

_Hainan _– Xieu Wun 'Vivian' Wang

_North California _– Lucas Alejandro Gomez

_South California _– Alice Sinclair

_Nevada _– Ian Luis Rodriguez

_Texas _– William Andrew Duncan

_Quebec _– Jacques Beaumont Williams

_Ohio _– Elisabeth Founders

_North Carolina _– June Carla Bernand

_South Carolina _– Asia Rosalind Bernand

_Alaska_ – Vera Braginski

**Pairings** I have are:

Lucas x Ian

William x Jacques

**Friends** established are:

Carrie, Vivian

Vera, Emma, William, Jacques

If I missed any, please tell me. If you have a request on who your character is friends/paired with, feel free to tell me. Anything else you want to ask/ suggest something/ talk about something/ etcetera to me about, feel free to. Otherwise, thanks for reading and thanks to **Firey-Nii-Wolf **for being my beta! :D

**(( Thanks ~ fiir . verdepol ))**


	5. Chapter Five: Night

**The Home**

**All Disclaimers Implied**

**Notes: **Thanks to **alexdemyx **for creating some guy characters. So now it comes to:

_Massachusetts _– Carrie Jones

_Kansas _– Emma Gale

_Missouri _– Emmaline Briggs

_Hainan _– Xieu Wun 'Vivian' Wang

_North California _– Lucas Alejandro Gomez

_South California _– Alice Sinclair

_Nevada _– Ian Luis Rodriguez

_Texas _– William Andrew Duncan

_Quebec _– Jacques Beaumont (apparently, she wanted to drop the 'Williams' part)

_Ohio _– Elisabeth Founders

_North Carolina _– June Carla Bernand

_South Carolina _– Asia Rosalind Bernand

_Alaska_ – Vera Braginski

_Kentucky _– Ethan Dawes

_Florida _– Anthony Roberts

_Nova Scotia _– Vincent Williams

So now it's** seven **guys and** eight **girls. ^.^ And in case some of you missed it in the summary, I am **no longer accepting characters as of this chapter**. If you still want to submit a character, talk to me first and we'll see. :)

Nurse Lupei = my Romania OC. Thanks to **Firey-Nii-Wolf** for being my beta and waiting for this chapter~ ^^

Well, enough of me. Here's the stuff.

* * *

><p>|| <strong>Chapter Five <strong>||

If he could choose the color of his room, he'd make it _blue_.

Ethan Dawes carefully went over his schedule today. First he'd wake up around seven and walk down to the cafeteria for breakfast at seven-thirty. He'd finish around eight and go hang around the rec-room for about an hour. At nine, he had his session with Doctor Edelstein until ten.

From ten to eleven (or twelve, depending on how charred Cook Kirkland decided to make his food or if someone else went and helped him to spare them all), he'd be in his room or wandering the halls. Sometimes, he'd see Nurse Hedervary and Doctor Beilschmidt (the albino, not the strict blonde) arguing. Although Ethan would feel a strong want to stop it, it was a lost cause. He had learned that a long time ago.

He'd finish lunch around twelve-thirty, then he'd spend the rest of his time in the rec-room. They had just installed a new T.V., apparently (though the majority of the patients had been in the Home for a long time and all the shows seemed to be completely new and in the middle of their seasons, making it all that more confusing to watch). At six, he'd go to the bathroom and take a shower. He'd finish in about thirty minutes, and from there, Ethan would be in his room, doing nothing until he fell asleep; mostly around eight.

And during that free time, he found himself thinking a lot; about numbers, images, words, and sounds. Sometimes he'd lie down, get back up, and lay down again. He'd mess with his pillows and his blanket.

Right now, it was six-forty-ish. He stared up at the ceiling, the white paint staring back at him. A lot of patients complained about the blandness, though he found it a bit comforting. It was something stable, he supposed, though he'd still like it for it to be blue.

Idly, he thought about one of the more severe patients in the Home; the ones that are always locked up in their rooms. He'd seen the one in room E-303L. It was only in passing, for he was on his way to the cafeteria and a nurse was putting in lunch for the girl there.

She had long, dark brown hair and evenly tanned skin. Her limbs were like a swimmer's, or at least meant to be. The pristine white clothes hung off her shoulders like an oversized shirt on a toddler. But her eyes were ocean-colored and they were the _only_ color in the entire white room, making them stand out even more.

And so the image stuck in his head were the two ocean-colored eyes of that girl. They were blue-ish, mostly. Very pretty; blue. He really liked blue, which is why he would really like his room to be blue.

There were no clocks. Ethan guessed that it made sense; patients could hurt themselves or others with clocks. Then again, it sort of irritated him to no point because how else would he keep track of his schedule?

Like most of the patients in the Home, Ethan was born in the Fifty States of America; Kentucky, to be more specific. He loved Kentucky Fried Chicken and really wished that they could really go buy their own food, especially since their cook was someone as horrible as Cook Kirkland. He found it quite upsetting that they took the radio. It wasn't as if it was used to hit someone on the head or anything.

Then again, he found the whole idea of the Home to be quite upsetting.

He sighed and turned over on his bed. He really couldn't wait for his mom to come and visit again.

* * *

><p>Anthony Roberts found himself always sneaking to Ethan's room when it started going really dark. He didn't like the dark and he didn't like to be alone either, so when the two combined, he found himself really…longing for company, let's say.<p>

The trick was, he learned, was to make sure that the nurses who usually straggled among the halls were already either preoccupied or not there at the moment. Then he had to be quick and dart down the way to Ethan's room, which was about five doors down from Anthony's S-043R.

The door quietly creaked as he opened it and zipped inside, making sure to close the door. Ethan was already pretty exasperated every time Anthony slept over and he would be even more irritated if the door was left open.

Sliding in next to Ethan, Anthony smiled happily as he snuggled into Ethan's back. The brunette sighed and moved over to give Anthony a bit more space. Apparently, he wasn't in the mood for talking today, which was pretty common.

Staring up at the ceiling, Anthony found himself still awake even though Ethan was already asleep. In the back of his head, he wondered if there were any monsters under the bed today, or maybe even the Bogeyman. Or maybe even a Cucuy; Dad had talked about them the last time they were visiting. Then again, not all monsters were creepy. Some were like those from Monster Inc.; like Sulley and Mike and Celia.

But most monsters were creepy, especially in the dark.

Changing his thought process, Anthony wondered about the Fountain of Youth. He'd like to find that, for it was at the top of his list. Then there was El Dorado, Terra Australis, Atlantis, City of the Caesars, Avalon, Hawaiki, Sierra de la Plata, Quivira, Llha das Sete Cidades, Shangri-La, Isles of the Blessed, and so on and so forth.

They were all treasures in their own right, sure, but number one would always be the Fountain of Youth. He had to be young in order to find all the others. How else would he have enough time to find them all? He'd be one of the greatest explorers _ever_ when he, you know, got out of the Home. Like Louis and Clark, he'd go down in history (he hoped).

And maybe, if Ethan wanted to, he'd bring the fussy brunette along and share the glory. After all, most explorers had pairs, like Louis _and_ Clark, Miguel _and _Tulio, Batman _and_ Robin, Mike _and_ Sulley (though the last two weren't really '_explorers_', per say).

He heard a prolonged 'creak', almost as if the house shuddered. Anthony moved closer next to Ethan, who mumbled in his sleep. The blonde really hoped that the building wasn't haunted; or worse, a _monster house_, like that house from that one movie Dad showed him before.

* * *

><p>In E-312W, Vincent Williams was currently obsessing over his new obsession.<p>

Sure, he knew of his disorder, but who cared? At this place, he got free food (even if it tasted like shit; he wasn't going to sugar-coat it), a room (that didn't have a bed, just a damn chair because he was one of their 'severe' patients), and a new obsession (Alice Sinclair, who was really pretty with her blonde hair and sea blue-green eyes).

Alice Sinclair, he knew, came from California (he himself came from the Canadian providence Nova Scotia). She had multiple personalities, hated her father, loved her late mother and younger sister, and though once her brother looked up to her, he now hates her. (His information was fresh; don't judge it like that.)

Vincent sighed, sitting on the ground and kicking the chair away. He laid down, ignoring the fact that it was freezing and hard in favor of giving his back some relief. It was hard to sleep and he always woke up with back pains, but it was better than a chair, right?

As far as he knew, there were about ten 'severe' patients in the Home. One of them included his neighbor in E-30. The girl's last name was Lolotai and she had general insanity. She was a Hawaiian with long dark hair and bright eyes who happens to be the daughter of a CEO of some company. That's the only part that's really interesting to Vincent, though he'd prefer his Alice any day.

He hated the nurses for not letting him out more often. If the chair wasn't plastic and chained to the wall not-so-discreetly, he'd throw it at them and run for it.

Though, if he ran for it, where would he go? His sister was put into a foster home, though he didn't care enough to learn where it was. Anya would tell him if he'd ask, probably, though he didn't even know how to contact her. And if she didn't tell him, then who cared? He could always highjack some car with cash in it and drive to a motel or something. He'd have been in worse situations.

In fact, the Home was probably one of the worst situations he's ever found himself in. Freakin' white everywhere. Though it was better than _pink_, he supposed. He had saw a hospital all covered in pink once. Bubblegum pink, rose pink, tea pink, 'tickle-me-pink', and all the other shades of pink that were out there.

It was probably useless to think of life after running away. The chair was chained to the wall and was plastic, thus it wasn't really good for throwing. Besides, he though as he folded his arms behind his head, the Home wasn't all that bad if he didn't pay attention to the big and small details. There was food, a room, and an obsession for him. Three things that was really not so good if you got more into it, but to hell with it.

He went to sleep.

* * *

><p>So, this is the end of the character chapters. After this, all the chapters will be pertaining to the plot. Thanks for putting up with these basically-filler-chapters. ^^; Again, I'm no longer accepting OCs; if you want to give one for the story, please talk to me first.<p>

Okay, so remember in Chapter Three when I said that Nurse Carlton and Doctor Eddsen were the only OCs that _didn't_ personify anything? Basically, that means that there will be OCs made by me that _do_ personify stuff, especially in the later chapters.

**(( Thanks ~ fiir . verdepol ))**


	6. Chapter Six: Talks

**The Home**

**All Disclaimers Implied**

**Notes: **Sorry this took so long, but *gasp!* we've reached the chapter where the plot begins! :O Therefore, updates will be more drawn-out. =.= Sorry in advance~!

[P.S., HIMARUYA-SENSEI MADE A ROMANIA! Squee~! :D The Romania in this story was a genderbend of my male OC, but now that he's made one, I guess that it's an OC genderbend…^^;]

Thanks to **Fiery-Nii-Wolf** for being my beta and putting up with how long I've been 'working' (procrastinating) on this! :D

* * *

><p>||<strong> Chapter Six<strong> ||

Hungary sighed as she shuffled through the files. There were really no prominent clues as to who was who in the Home. For all she knew, the sadistic old man down the hall could be an American state reincarnated.

She really hoped he wasn't.

A knocking came from her door and she turned around partially in her seat. A smile came over her features as she spotted Austria. "Roderich! Have you been waiting for me?" The male gave a small smile and nodded. "I'm sorry to keep you up."

"Don't worry about it; I haven't been waiting long. The best part is that Prussia wasn't there to bother me." He paused and looked over at her cluttered desk. "Are you finishing up then?"

She nodded. "Yes, I've just finished looking over the files again. I've found no clues." Hungary looked back at Austria. "You've been talking with them. Have you seen anything?" He shook his head as he closed the door and sat down in a spare chair. She sighed.

"They're all just normal patients – or, as normal as they can get. There are no irregularities, no abnormalities, no dreams of a past life or people they never _really _knew in this life. There's nothing." Austria picked up the top folder of the pile and opened it. "Are we sure that at least one of them out there is a state or province?"

"That's just the thing, isn't it?" Hungary muttered under her breath. Austria closed the folder and placed it back on top of the pile. They sat in silence for a few moments before Austria sighed and took another folder.

"It's already late and I don't see any harm in looking through these again." He offered a smile to Hungary, who blinked before giving a grin in response.

The room was then reduced into comfortable silence, broken up only by shuffling papers or a noise of interest or a disgusted scoff. Otherwise, it was pretty peaceful.

Except, of course, when the door was burst open by a certain albino and a Romanian trailing after him.

"Yo! Now that Awesome is here, your lives just got a fuck lot more awesome!" Hungary made another disgusted noise, most likely from the presence of both of her hated acquaintances. Austria sighed, rubbing his forehead; Fate was a cruel person to have the fated slips chosen by this set of people.

Then again, America was the one who proposed that they pick out their positions on paper slips out of a hat. Everyone was pretty much still convinced that England looked and picked 'cook' on purpose.

"What the hell are you doing here, Stupid One and Two?"

"Shut up bitch; Gil noticed you weren't leaving and dragged me here."

"Alright then; what the hell are you doing here, Stupid One?"

"Well, if you _must_ know, transvestite bitch, it's because I felt obliged to do my Weekly Act of Awesome and bestow you the grandness that is my awesome."

"…even your _words_ sound egoistic and stupid."

"Hey!"

"And you; do you have a weak will or something? Though it wouldn't surprise me, especially coming from a filthy _Romanian_."

"Of course not; only a _Hungarian_ would see it, after all."

"What are you implying, bitch?"

"Takes one to know one, bitch."

"What! Get over here, _you are dead._"

"Hey-hey-hey! Don't get into a fight over Awesome! There's enough of me to go around!"

"Are you stupid? Who said we were fighting about _you_, idiot? And get over here; _I'll kill you_, Hungarian bitch."

Austria sighed and shook his head at his longtime neighbors' antics but didn't say a word. He turned back to his folder, though his mind was much too preoccupied on the arguments of the others. After all, everyone had to get their humor from somewhere, right?

* * *

><p>2012 may not have been the end of the world, but it may as well have been.<p>

World War Three started that year, and like the other Great Wars, millions upon millions were killed. Bombs, bullets, shrapnel, starvation, radiation…it was impossible to keep track of it all.

Countries don't die; not until every one of their people is buried in the ground and dead as a doornail. However, states and provinces do. Personifications are hard to kill, but regions are easier than countries. And as such a case, World War Three had managed to kill much of the regions. 2012 was eight years ago and by 2020; the nations had managed to recover most of them. All that was left to do was bring back the remaining sixteen.

That is, if they could find them.

As you know, dear reader, nations and humans are exceptionally different from each other. After all, what human alive today fought in the Hundred Year War? Most that fought in the beginning of the Hundred Year War weren't alive when it ended. And so you see, if nations and humans are exceptionally different, then it follows that regions and humans are noticeably different.

There are a lot of things that factor into this, but in the end, it goes like this: if there was an atomic bomb dropped on, say, Nevada, then most likely, the personification would die, regardless of people born in Nevada living in other states.

For you see, while countries rely on their people for their life, regions rely on the lands that encompass them. Should anything drastic happen to those lands, the regions are impacted; sometimes heavily and sometimes lightly.

And sometimes, the events are so drastic that the regions can no longer live.

* * *

><p>Washington D.C. ran his fingers through his hair as a sigh passed through his lips. At least it wasn't like before 2012, when they had that horrible recession. Many things come out of war and few of them good, but like the Great Depression and World War Two, the latest Great War had ended the recession.<p>

Sure, they still had a debt, but at least it was as humongous as it was before.

"Рада тебя видеть, George," /_Nice to see you_/ a feminine voice greeted him. He looked up from his paperwork to find the rather well-endowed personification of Moscow standing there, a small, neutral smile on her face. "Как дела?" /_How are you doing?_/

D.C. knew enough Russian to understand what she was saying at least and responded with, "I'm…I've been better, I suppose. How are you?"

Her smile grew less cool and more familiar as she slid into the seat across from him. "Как обычно. /_As usual_/ Nothing has changed much, I think. Ever since Сибирь /_Siberia_/ has come back to complete our family, everything's been alright again."

There was a childish side to D.C. who was pouting and grumbling why the commie got to have a complete family when his wasn't and then there was a mature side to him that smiled and nodded, happy for someone else's happiness. That was the side that he showed to Moscow at the moment and the blonde's smile grew warmer and a bit wider at his actions.

If she was rubbing it in his face, perhaps then he would have been childish (because the situation called for it, of course).

"You are a great politician, George," Moscow commented. He shrugged, a smile still on his face. She always was able to see through him and see his two sides. "Anyways, how is the search for your family going?"

D.C. shrugged again, filling in a blank on his paperwork. He had no idea why people grumbled about it; it was really easy. But of course, he's been doing this since forever, after all.

"Okay, I suppose. It's not complete, but neither is China's or Uncle Matt's."

"Who is this 'Uncle Matt'?"

D.C. paused and frowned. Strange, why'd he say Uncle Matt? He didn't even know if he knew anyone named Matt... "Huh, I don't know. I guess it just slipped out of my mouth." He shrugged and placed his head on his hand. Moscow raised an eyebrow but didn't comment. "Anyways, we're on the way to having everyone back."

Moscow nodded. **"**Папа said that he wanted to visit the Home some time. But then Тётя Natashka said that she wanted to go as well and then he dropped the idea." Her face was serious but she obviously meant it to make D.C. laugh, which he did quietly. After all, wherever Moscow was, Russia seemed to be not far behind with an overprotective mindset and a dark air around him.

To be frank, it scared D.C., and not much scared him (that he'd admit).

"I haven't visited yet; Al won't let me." That was a half-truth, like saying the grass was a yellow-green. America wouldn't let anyone go the Home if they didn't have a job there because of multiple half-assed reasons but it wasn't as if D.C. had made an effort to go there himself. It wasn't so much that he didn't care, but rather, perhaps he was afraid.

Afraid to get close to one of the patients, thinking that maybe they would be a sibling of his, only to find out later that they weren't. No, he didn't want to get close to anybody now; not when his family was still like this.

"That's a lie, George," Moscow's accusing voice interrupted his thoughts. He looked up with a raised eyebrow to face her disapproving frown and narrowed eyes.

"Uh-uh-uh," he shook his head, wagging his finger for effect. "It's not a '_lie_' so much as a half-truth. Besides, as you said, I'm a good politician and omitting the truth is part of the criteria." D.C. flashed another smile and filled in a few more blanks on the paper.

Moscow rolled her dark eyes. "Isn't omitting the truth also part of spying, George?" She stared blankly at him, as if daring him to deny any part of it. He gave a smirk and said nothing. She drummed her fingers on his desk as she looked out the window. "There are a lot of wood in here. It makes it look weird."

She lightly tapped the front of D.C.'s wooden desk with her foot and the wood fell away to a hidden compartment. A smirk came over her lips as the male told her, "Yes, well, it works just fine and so I don't see any reason to change it."

Nodding, she stood up and told him, "Well, if you change your mind and decide to not be a pansy any more, give me a call and we'll head down to the Home together, hmm?" Moscow turned on her heels, walking out of the room with soft clicking sounds from her shoes.

D.C. sighed as he ran a hand through his blonde hair. He picked up his phone and dialed America's number.

* * *

><p><strong>Notes: <strong>I dunno; hating people because of their country of origin is hard for me, so writing about it is harder (especially when I did it in a rush).

Could you tell that I rushed through this chapter? ^^; I've been spending a lot of time on Facebook recently...

So no; no actual patients in this but more of the Hetalia characters! Well, only three canon and one coming into canon (sort of) and two OCs, but still~

I think that this story would be shorter than fifteen chapters at the least. That is, of course, if I don't get frustrated and delete this whole thing...

**(( Thanks ~ fiir . verdepol ))**


	7. Chapter Seven: A Visit

**The Home**

**All Disclaimers Implied**

**Notes: **Again, sorry about the lateness of this. I got sucked into the universe of Glee and read Dalton by CP Coulter and got sucked into _that_ fandom and _God_, everything is Dalton and Jogan and Jameron and _shit_, everything hurts.

Anyways, thank you to everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter and to those that took the time to read it~

Firey-Nii-Wolf is going on a hiatus because she's moving, so I didn't want to bother her. Thus, this chapter may have numerous mistakes. ^^;

**I AM SO NOT HAPPY WITH THIS CHAPTER; ALDJFA;DF**. **D**

Ahem.

Finally, here's the seventh chapter:

* * *

><p>|| <strong>Chapter Seven<strong> ||

A week later, D.C. found himself out of his usual Armani suits and in casual clothes with Moscow at his side. He scratched at the collar of his loose dress shirt while Moscow fixed her ridiculously large sun hat complete with a sunflower in its brim. He eyed it cautiously, as if it concealed some sort of poison dart.

The Cold War had, after all, lasted a while and it was hard to get out of habits after doing them for so many years – especially when it had to be dredged right back up for the recent Third World War.

"Stop your fidgeting, George," she grumbled, elbowing him. D.C. flinched; Moscow had bony elbows. "Fix your clothing now; you can't look so disheveled if we want them to remember you." She fingered her ever-present scarf, which looked out of place in the midst of Moscow's 'summer clothes'. She was nothing if not fashionable and the scarf was _not_, if anything.

"I think they'd 'member me better if I was in my usual clothes," D.C. grumbled causing Moscow to elbow him again. He scowled at her but said nothing lest she do it again. They entered the building, walking to the front desk. It wasn't so busy with people trickling in and out.

Moscow smiled at the lady who sat behind the desk, though the latter had her eyes mostly on D.C., who was looking around nervously, avoiding her gaze. "Привет. We're here to see Doctor Beilschmidt." The lady smiled timidly back at Moscow and D.C. didn't blame her. Moscow had inherited a lot from her father, including her menacing smile.

It was a shame she didn't inherit her younger aunt's smile; D.C. heard it was pretty cute (of course, you generally had about five seconds to run before she killed you.)

"Ah yes...Miss Braginski and Mister Jones?" She smiled flirtingly at D.C., who hesitantly flashed a rather nervous smile in return. "Here are your passes; he's right down the hall over there." Moscow nodded once and D.C. could feel the receptionist's eyes on his back.

"I don't like humans like that," he muttered to Moscow, who gave him a laughing smirk.

"I'm content in your unhappiness," she replied expectantly. D.C. rolled his eyes at the pale blonde but didn't say any more as they neared Prussia's office.

Moscow knocked on the door and D.C. idly wondered how her and Prussia's relationship was like. She loved her father while Prussia hated him, though there was nothing to be said about how he felt for Russia's children. Through the see-through glass on the window, they saw a blurry figure with white hair get up and the door opened after.

"Yo, D.C.; _Moscow_," he grimaced, as if the name conjured up bad memories (which it probably did). "Here to visit?" Prussia turned his attention to D.C. instead, his egoistic grin flashing on his face.

The American capital nodded. "I think we'll try the Americans first. Neither Ottawa nor Beijing wanted to come, for whatever reason. Who are the 'suspects'?"

Prussia leaned against the doorway, a thoughtful expression on. His arms crossed in front of his chest as he told them, "The ones we 'suspect' are Carrie Jones, – sort of in her name there, no? – Emma Gale, – 'Wizard of Oz' and all – Emmaline Briggs, Luke Gomez and Alice Sinclair could be the Californias, Blake Rodriguez – he's from Las Vegas. That's in America, right? – William Duncan, Vera Braginski – _Braginski_, come on. That isn't hard – the Bernand twins – North and South Carl or something... There's also Elisabeth Founders, Ethan Dawes, and Anthony Roberts. That's just the Americans." He waved his hand. "Whatever the states are; you'll have to ask the others."

Moscow raised an eyebrow. "You need to get geography lessons, _Gilbert_." They glared at each other through narrowed eyes and D.C. suddenly felt uncomfortable. He decided to go America's route and completely misread the situation.

"Yeah! Maybe Al could teach you! Everything's in America, y'know." He gave them a toothy grin and the two stared at him. There was a silence that followed quite uncomfortably until Prussia slapped him on the back (quite hard) and laughed.

"You know, these are the times when you really know that you're an American!" Moscow giggled quietly as well and D.C. simply grinned, inwardly groaning. "Well, as much as the Awesome Me should stick around and make you even more Awesome and shit, I have to get back to the un-Awesome workload, which doesn't even deserve a capital 'W'." He waved them off and went back inside his office, presumably to wait around until another opportunity gives rise to distract him from paperwork.

"Perhaps we could find Austria," Moscow suggested quietly. D.C. nodded in response, keeping an eye out for the brunette. "...that Vera one, do you think it could be Alaska?" Her voice had a hint of guilt in it, something that probably not even her own father would notice. D.C. looked over at her before resuming his search.

Moscow and Alaska always had a complicated relationship. In the colonial days, Moscow had been content with ignoring Alaska, the child who seemed to have nothing worth of value. Then somehow, it seemed as if the Russian capital had received human morals and a soul, something that still surprised D.C., if he spoke truthfully. All joking aside, the relationship went something like; (Moscow to Alaska) ignore-pine, ignore-hate, ignore-despair, ignore-desperate ignore, notice-secret pine, sorry-secret pine, friendly-adoration, friendly-idolization, friendly-hate, and so on. Everyone else had long stopped trying to keep up with the ever-changing feelings for it seemed like it was different each day.

Still, Moscow had this little part of her that felt like she was obligated to try and spend time with her 'little sister' and everyone knew that Alaska liked the attention, however late it was.

D.C. didn't know what to say – he'd never had such a relationship in personal experience – and instead shrugged insensitively like America. "Could be; though Braginski is a common name." He didn't miss the way Moscow deflated slightly, though she brought herself right back up in a blink.

"Let's start with the Jones girl. What was her name?" She looked over at D.C.

"Carrie Jones. It would have helped if Prussia gave us the files, no?" The taller blonde ran through the names in his head carefully, hoping that he didn't get them wrong or that Prussia gave them wrong on purpose. If he did, then D.C. would have to throttle him, no matter how 'awesome' the albino claimed to be.

Moscow tugged on his sleeve and nodded her head discreetly. At first, D.C. thought she had found Austria or a patient that caught her eye before he recognized the towering figure with the billowing scarf and the much shorter male in traditional red robes. "What are they doing here?"

He looked at the pale blonde, who had a hint of surprise on her otherwise impassive face. "You didn't know they would be here?" he asked in return, a bit shocked.

"I am his _daughter_. He does not need to tell me where he is going for the day." She replied with a scowl marring her face. As quickly as it appeared however, it disappeared and she pulled him away quickly. "_However_, I do not plan on Папа knowing that I am here as well instead of with Minsk and Kyiv."

D.C. found himself grinning at her. "Really? You lied to _Daddy Dearest_?" He clasped his hands together dramatically and batted his eyes girlishly. "I am so _proud_!" Moscow rolled her eyes at his childishness and swatted him on the arm.

"Pay _attention_, idiot." She hissed at him. "I don't want to miss a patient and neither do I want to attract attention, _especially_ now that we know who's here."

He simply waved her off. "Come on then; I've found Hungary." Without waiting for a response, D.C. starting pulling Moscow away from China and Russia. The Russian blonde looked around, trying to zero in on the Hungarian brunette before finding her. She pulled her arm away from D.C.'s grasp and reached Hungary first.

"Рада тебя видеть, Hungary," she greeted to her back, causing Hungary to tense slightly and turn around, a clipboard in her hands.

In the back of his mind, D.C. remembered that Hungary was under Soviet rule (or something, right? Damnit, Al!) once too. There was a cold tenseness about the two and D.C. groaned mentally when he realized he'll probably have to act like his father once more in order to avoid an awkward moment.

"Yo!" he grinned at the green-eyed nation. Their attention was turned to him, quelling the thick air just ever so-slightly. "We're here for the files for the American states!"

A spark of amusement lit up Hungary's eyes. "Wait a moment," she told him, turning around to shuffle around in the cart's bin. She retrieved a pile of manila folders, dropping them into D.C.'s arms. He nearly staggered under the sudden weight. Moscow giggled quietly beside him, a hand reaching out to hold his elbow.

"What's in here!" he groaned, trying to look over the pile of folders. Hungary rolled her eyes and left. "...h-hello...?"

"She left already, idiot," Moscow piped up, grabbing some folders off the top of the pile. "Let's get started, shall we?" Flipping open the top folder, she whisked out the basic information paper and examined it. "Alice Sinclair...sound familiar?"

D.C. considered it for a moment before recalling the name from Prussia's list. He nodded. "Yeah, sort of. What exactly do you have in mind for this whole...'remembering past lives' sort of thing?"

Moscow gave him a look. "You mean you practically threw a fit to be able to get here when you don't even know what to do?" He frowned.

"You were the one who told me to do it!" he defended. She rolled her eyes, heaving an exasperated sigh. "Don't give me that – if I recall correctly, your exact words were, _'well, if you change your mind and decide to not be a pansy anymore, give me a call and we'll head down to the Home together, hmm_?'" His voice was high-pitched in order to mimic Moscow's. She glared slightly at him. "And don't deny it; I know that I have the whole conversation on tape."

Their eyes focused on each other in a tense moment, not exactly glaring but simply staring. She sighed again, this time sounding more resigned to D.C. "Like I said; a fine politician." Moscow looked around, searching for something. "I suppose we'll just talk to the girl, no? See if she has had some weird dreams or a memory that she doesn't remember."

D.C. nodded and they made their way down a hallway.

* * *

><p><em>Aiyah...<em>

China watched as the air between Russia and Prussia grew tenser and more...purple-ish, he supposed. But perhaps that was simply the taller man's dark aura growing as he became more and more frustrated. Prussia, on the other hand, was already angry, bordering on furious now. Relations between the two had been beyond horrible ever since World War Two.

"We simply need information, da?"

"Screw you, you fucking Russian! Go find information on your own!"

"Why won't comrade help us, da?"

"I'm no fucking co-_friend_ of yours, you fucking un-awesome-"

"Ah, comrade is very hurtful, da?"

"FUUU- I just told you-!"

"Comrade will give us information now, da?"

China didn't know _where_ the bloody and rusty pipe had come from, but he knew enough to know what it was for. He grabbed Russia's wrist, making sure to press his thumb onto a pressure point. The pale hand jerked once before going limp and dropping the pipe.

"China? Why would you do that, da?" Russia frowned at his long-time neighbor. The slender man rolled his eyes.

"I will not let you beat up a 'doctor' at an asylum, aru! Even if he kind of deserves it, aru," he directed a slight glare at the albino at the last comment. Prussia held up his hands in a defensive position.

"Hey, now. Like you said, I'm a doctor here and I can't just give out patient information to just about anyone. Besides, your kid already got some," he added as an afterthought. Russia froze, his violet eyes leaving China's hand around his wrist to look at Prussia.

"...pardon, da? Did you say my 'kid' was here?" He narrowed his eyes at the ex-nation, daring him to deny it. Prussia, seeing the familiar look in the Russian's eyes, involuntarily took a step back. He'd seen enough of _that_ when he was Russian territory.

Still, the bastard could tell when he was lying, oddly enough. It wouldn't help him if he tried, even if China had one hand rendered useless for the time being. So, he nodded. "Along with the American kid; Washington or something." He shrugged. "I dunno his name; West is better at that. Why, bastard?"

His question went unanswered as Russia had already turned on his heel by then, stalking down the hallway with a distinct dark purple aura around him while he muttered 'kolkolkolkol' under his breath. China was dragged along, with a surprised yelp, his feet barely touching the ground.

Prussia stared after them, unsure of what to say or do.

He ran a hand through his hair.

Oh well. The Russian bastard wouldn't hurt his capital; she was his heart, after all. The same couldn't be said for that Washington kid, but perhaps Russia would keep in mind that relations with the personification of America were still tense (at least, on the blonde's side) and if he wanted everyone to 'be one' with him, he'd best remember to be on people's good side.

Or neutral side.

Or something.

All Prussia knew is that he did not want to come between an angry Russia and his intended target; not anymore.

* * *

><p>They stood in front of the white door.<p>

D.C. stared at it, a horrid feeling in his stomach. The number on the plate next to the door read, E-O92. Alice Sinclair.

Suddenly, it felt all too real.

His family was missing members; members that he'd never thought about dying, let alone reincarnating and reappearing in an insane asylum. The thought made his stomach churn. He cleared his throat and asked Moscow to distract himself from his own feelings, "What exactly is he in here for?"

"You make it sound like she is a prisoner," she muttered softly, looking at the papers. "She has multiple personalities and apparently has no recollection of them; she thinks she has short-term memory. The staff and other patients have names for each of her personalities; 'Mama' for her maternal side, 'Fury' when she's angry, 'Angel' when she's calm and happy and nice, 'Squirrel' when she's hyper, and simply 'Anna' when she's...'normal', I suppose."

D.C. nodded. "Where's she from?"

"Southern California; Alice Sinclair is eighteen and tried to kill her father in his sleep after she got tired of seeing him beat her older brother. It seems that she cares very much for her siblings, particularly her little sister, Briana, who is three years younger." Moscow looked up. "You have two Californias?"

He nodded. "Yeah; I guess that they're distinctly different enough to have a North and a South. It's sort of like the Carolinas, I guess." D.C. gave a shrug.

They didn't move.

"What time is it?" Moscow asked conversationally. He glanced at his wrist watch.

"Eleven-fifty; why?" he looked over at what she was looking at. "Therapy times? It seems that it's a bit too early for her group therapy, so she's either in there," he gestured to the door, which could have blended into the walls if it were for the brass hinges, "or eating. But she will leave soon."

Moscow turned her eyes onto her (her what? Comrade? Fellow spy-slash-secret agent? Friend with benefits? Their relationship was really complex.) expectantly. "...aren't you going in, George?"

D.C. shrugged carelessly, but Moscow hadn't gone through the Cold War and Third World War without keeping a few habits, like picking up on slight signs of discomfort. His fingers were rubbing against each other and she could almost _see_ his toes wiggling in anxiety.

They knew each other too well for too long.

Heaving a sigh, she lifted a fist and knocked on the door, almost seeming as if she didn't want to be there.

But D.C. knew her too, and smiled faintly when he realized that she was taking the first step for him.

"...thanks," he murmured softly as they waited for the door to open.

Moscow glanced at D.C. before resuming her staring at the white door. "For knocking, George? Well, what was I supposed to do? Stand here and watch you gather up the balls that you don't have in order to _knock_? I do not have that sort of time, and I don't think you do either."

"Yeah? Then why didn't you tell me to knock instead?" he replied easily, the words rolling off his tongue like the simple way Moscow rolled her eyes.

"It would have taken too much time rather than to simply knock on the door." She shot back with a playful edge.

D.C. chuckled quietly. "Oh really? I thought you were one for the hard way, Rozaline."

"And I thought you were courageous; like the American spirit entails. Obviously, we were both wrong." She elbowed him as they heard the door unlocking. He held in a hiss of pain as the door slowly opened to reveal a slender figure standing there.

He felt a pang in his chest when he met Alice Sinclair's eyes. They seemed so familiar but...

_They just weren't_.

* * *

><p><strong>Notes:<strong> Sorry to end that so soon. I'd write more, but y'know, I just really wanted to get this out. I'm so sorry about the long delay. First Australia, then Brazil, then Czech Republic, then California, and then my birthday... ^^; I've just been a bit busy.

So this was originally supposed to be longer, but I'm starting school soon and my curfew has been set up again.

But anyways; I hope you enjoyed this! :D

**(( Thanks ~ fiir . verdepol ))**


	8. Chapter Eight: The Throwing of Things

**The Home**

**All Disclaimers Implied**

**Notes: **So I was re-reading last chapter and realized I did something wrong – I had them state that they were starting with Carrie and instead, they started with Alice. -.- This is why I need a beta, because I'm horrible at re-reading stuff in the haste to post them up.

So, after a few moments of mentally panicking and cursing myself, I decided to leave it as is. Sorry if you got confused. ^^;

I promised that there was going to be freak outs in this chapter, and I also promised that Russia and Vera would meet. The end result proved to be a whole chapter of freak outs.

Now, here's the eighth chapter! (Eighth is such a funny word, I swear...)

:D

* * *

><p>|| <strong>Chapter <strong>**Eight** ||

Russia stalked down the hallway, the few people that were there separating as if he had a bloody chainsaw in his hands and a hockey mask on. Of course, he was dragging along another man who was kicking and flailing about, plus he had a murderous look on his face.

They'd been around in an insane asylum to know how to deal with these sorts of rampages. But what to do when a visitor does it?

"Aiyah! Stop it, aru! Put me down, aru!" China frowned at the tall man, glaring with his eyes. However, Russia paid no attention to him. "Do you even know where you're going, aru!"

The question made Russia pause and China breathed a sigh of relief as he was able to get back to the ground without harm.

Where exactly _would_ his daughter be?

He growled and ran a hand through his hair, feeling frustrated. His own daughter lied to him and came to this place instead. What reason would she have to be here? Russia took a glance at China, who was watching him carefully, remembering why he himself was here in the first place.

But who...?

Shit. Didn't Prussia say something about an American with her? Washington...

D.C.

His lips turned downwards in a vicious scowl. China gulped, catching sight of it. Aiyah, did that mean he finally realized exactly who was with Moscow now?

"Come, Yao. We need to find-"

Russia was cut off suddenly when they heard a loud growl. China blinked and turned his head, searching for the source. Behind them stood a pair of girls, one being a short brunette, half hiding behind the taller, white-as-snow haired one.

"...da?"

And before either of the nations had a chance to react, the pale one jumped at Russia.

_Aiyah_...!

* * *

><p>When Alice had opened the door, she was half-expecting Briana, who had promised to visit one day. As she walked towards the door, her heart was pounding against her ribcage. Faint voices, playful in their tone, reached her ears through the door. Maybe...maybe Jay was trying to reconnect with her again?<p>

All she knew was there was one male, too young to be her father, and a female, perhaps the same age as her sister. Alice placed a hand on the doorknob, but couldn't find it in herself to turn the handle.

What if once she opened the door, Briana would decide that she wasn't worth the trip? What if she was just getting her hopes up for nothing?

Alice took a deep breath. She was thinking too much. Sometimes; sometimes you just have to go with your gut. She took another deep breath and turned the door knob.

A hiss of pain was heard as she swung open the door. She wasn't sure what she was feeling at that point – was her heart sinking? Was she getting frustrated? Hopeless? – as before she could dwell on it, it seemed that she blanked out.

D.C. nearly squealed – something that he would vehemently deny ever happening later – in a high-pitch when something hard skimmed his face. He jumped back, trying to calm his furious heartbeat. Looking over, he saw that Moscow seemed to have reverted back to her secret agent mode, pressing against the wall on the right of the door.

Her blue-gray eyes were trained on the door, where a seething figure huffed, lifting up another object to throw. It flew dangerously close to Moscow, seeming to be a handful of unusually sharp pencils. Her lips pulled down into a dangerously familiar scowl and her fists clenched, indicating that she was a tad angrier than D.C. would have liked her to be.

A chair flew out of the room grazing D.C.'s arm and leaving a long scratch. He cursed under his breath and gripped the limb, knowing that he was starting to bleed a little. Moscow muttered something angrily under her breath in Russian that he didn't bother to translate.

"_Fuckers_! Get the hell away! _Fuck __off_!"

The screaming was starting to attract nurses and doctors, thankfully, and they were rushing to subdue her. Moscow strolled to his side, her arms crossed under her ample chest and her lips still pulled down in a scowl, though it looked less dangerous than before. "She won't be much help."

D.C. bit back his retort of, _'__well, _obviously_, __Moscow.__She __just __had __a __meltdown __and __you __expect __her __to __be _helpful_? __I __don__'__t __know __how __you __Russians __do __it, __but __in __America, __we __have __different __expectations._' He simply nodded unhelpfully and shuffled through the files again. "Ian Luis Rodriguez is next. Shall we-"

He was cut off from shouts that seemed to have bounded off the walls and made it to their ears from a whole different hallway. The two capitals exchanged glances, a small frown on both of their faces. The doctors and nurses looked up briefly before they were forced to get back to the matter at hand; subduing "Fury" (as Alice was known in this state).

"Should we…?"

"I don't…"

The American looked over at his Russian counterpart, who was staring down the hall in disinterest. He sighed. "I guess not then. Let's just go ahead and go visit Ian Luis Rodriguez, shall we?"

Moscow nodded, the only change in her expression being a minuscule perk of her lips and a tiny sparkle in her eyes. God, she's a fucking princess, isn't she? D.C. shook his head and the two made their way down the hall. They didn't speak at all during their walk and it occurred to D.C. just how comfortable he was around the Russian capital the majority of the time.

It sort of scared him (like how he is around Moscow two percent of the time).

"Ah, here it is, da?"

D.C. blinked, snapping out of his thoughts and looking over to the door where Moscow was pointing. "Ah, yes; this is the place." He paused, wondering if they were going to get a repeat performance from Miss Alice Sinclair's show. By the time he had reassured himself, Moscow had already knocked on the door three times.

The door opened slightly. A quarter of a face appeared, a blue eye staring at them. It blinked. "…can I help you?" the words were barely heard, ghosting to their ears simply from the light breeze that came from the vents. D.C. blinked, a bit taken aback.

Okay. So they obviously _weren__'__t_ getting a repeat performance.

"…Ian Luis Rodriguez?" Moscow spoke, breaking the rather still silence in the air. The eye blinked again.

"…yes."

The two capitals exchanged glances briefly. D.C. cleared his throat. "Can we come in? We need to speak to you." His own blue eyes stared into Ian's, which stared unblinkingly at him. It was a bit unnerving, to say the least.

"…talked to a doctor?"

They blinked. Was he only capable of speaking four-worded sentences? "Da, we have; Doctor Beilschmidt." It was Moscow who answered this time. D.C. blinked in confusion. If Ian was a patient here, wouldn't he know the nature of Prussia? At least, in the slightest bit?

"…I see. Come in."

…what? D.C. was left flabbergasted as Moscow nodded, her tiny smile stretching a bit at the willingness of this patient. She stepped into the room as the boy moved backwards. She looked over at the American capital with sharp eyes.

"George…"

"Yeah, yeah…"

He tentatively stepped into the room. Whether it was this patient or the fact that the previous situation was just catching up to him, he didn't know. Or perhaps it wasn't _them_ specifically, but instead, _who _they could potentially _be_.

"Pathetic; your fear is showing," Moscow hissed. D.C. bit the inside of his mouth.

"…talk?"

Ian stared at them expectantly, sitting cross-legged on his bed. The capitals kept standing and D.C. took the opportunity to look around the room. It was bland, white, and would drive a person insane if they weren't already – or maybe even more insane. There was a bed pressed against the wall, no windows, and high ceilings.

Empty. It made him shiver a bit.

It was Moscow who spoke first. "We'll be blunt here, da? We want to know if you have had any strange dreams, any weird memories you don't recall having." Her eyes stared coldly at the patient, silently threatening painfully long death if he lied.

However, Ian didn't seem to notice the stare, or wasn't affected at all. D.C. refrained from pouting, as he himself was certainly affected by the busty female (in certainly more than one way).

"Plenty," he replied without batting an eye. "Interested?"

D.C. nodded. "Is there anything specific? Like, say, important pieces of American history?" The two capitals watched the dark-haired patient carefully as Ian thought it over. He slowly nodded.

"Civil war," he muttered, looking speculative. "Halloween," he added after a second.

There was a silence before Moscow prompted, "Is that all?" Ian shook his head.

"…California," he quietly muttered. "Texas and Mama Mexico…" His eyes grew distant for a moment, before coming back. "Washoe…Area 51…" Ian looked up at the two capitals.

Moscow jabbed D.C. in the sides with her elbow. "Remind you of anyone?"

"Nevada," the reply was quick, having been made up in his mind as soon as the teen had uttered 'California' with the most emotion they've seen in Ian since meeting him. "It's…he's…_Nevada_."

"Me…?" the teen frowned, though it seemed as if it had no emotion, no care was behind the question. "What…?"

* * *

><p>Emma Gale was confused; very, <em>very<em> confused.

Firstly, she had no idea that Vera would lash out at the tall, Russian-sounding man that Denzo the Flying Bear had eagerly pointed out to her. Secondly, she had no idea that the pretty Asian next to the Russian-sounding man was actually _male_. Thirdly, they were calling each other 'Russia' and 'China' while talking about 'Moscow' and 'that blonde no-good pig' while giving weird glances over at Vera. Charlie and Tinny looked as uncomfortable as Emma felt at the moment, restraining the furious Vera. Denzo was staring off into space.

And then there was the whole issue of the deathly air that the Russian was giving off.

William, who was passing by to return to his room, noticed the near-fight and after trying in vain to subdue Vera, managed to convince Emma to latch onto the taller girl. Jacques looked on, waving off the few of the staff that came by with a glare. They weren't doctors or nurses, which should have raised some questions, but did not.

Eventually, Anthony and Ethan joined them, the former being curious. "What's happened?" Anthony asked with a gleam in his eyes as they fell on the weird duo. "Who are they?"

The question went unanswered as yet another patient – Lucas – appeared with a broad smile. "Hey! Have you guys heard? All the doctors and nurses had to go subdue Fury!"

"You look unnaturally happy about that."

The entire group turned around to see Ian join them, two unknown figures flanking him. And then it seemed that the hallway went to Hell.

"_Fa-__Alaska!_"

"_Aiyah, __aru! __Don__'__t __stand __up __so-__"_

"_ARGH!"_

"_I'LL KILL YOU!"_

"_IAN!"_

"_Ah! __Vera!__"_

Yes. Emma Gale was very, very, _very_ confused.

* * *

><p><strong>Notes: <strong>Ah crap. I'm quite unhappy with this chapter, for several reason. One, it was supposed to be out earlier (very, very, _very_ sorry for the wait guys). Two, it was supposed to be longer (again, sorry). Three, it was supposed to be easy to write (it had to be redone about seven times. Ugh. [How's that for irony? Eighth time redo is the final eighth chapter.]) And four, it's loaded with mistakes and crap because I wanted to get it out to you guys and did not have the patience to run it by anyone (I dunno; is Fiery-Nii-Wolf beta-ing again?).

So yeah. Anyways, the story's starting to wrap up. :) Also, I have a shared account with a friend of mine, so if you want, go ahead onto my profile and check out the link (it's under **and ****more** by Shared Account). I'll be putting up Moscow and D.C.'s stories up there, as well as other capitals, so if you want, you can go look there.

Finally, **thank ****you, ****thank ****you, ****thank ****you, ****thank ****you** for you guys to being so patient with this chapter. DX It's been two months, hasn't it? God, I'm sorry…

[Also, if you find words put together; ex. _well,duh_...; blame that either on Word's Compatability Mode, or FF.]

**(( Thanks ~ fiir . verdepol ))**


	9. Author's Note: Sorry!

**Author's Note- Sorry!**

Hi guys; I'm terribly sorry that this isn't an update, though you've probably guessed that from the title. ^^;

This is more of a notice: **The Home is going on hiatus.**

In all technicalities, it's been on hiatus for a while now, since I've yet to update it. But I had this plan of a big, long chapter as a sorry and a thank you for having to wait so long.

Unfortunately, as all best-laid plans are wont to do, it turned out bad. :(

So yeah, I've hit a road block in my chapter. On top of that, I've been really busy with school, hospitals, trouble with dad, etcetera. I'm really sorry about this, but I think it's fair to let you all know that this story's going to stall in updating for a while rather than to just leave you hanging without any warning.

On a better note, guess what? Yokolite is making a prequel to this in her character's (Carrie Jones) point of view. It's called _Refusal_, so check that out~ :) It's in its ninth chapter already, and I think that it's a good read.

But I guess that I should give you all a little preview, right? :) So here's a really small part of Chapter Nine:

* * *

><p>Lani looked around curiously. How strange; there was no one around. That was a rarity, especially considering this was one of the more 'severe' areas.<p>

She stared at the ground as if half-expecting it to swallow her up. On one hand, she was to stay in her room unless there was a reason to leave. Her food was brought to her and she already went to her therapy session. There was a chance she'd be caught, of course, and she _hated_ getting in trouble.

On the other hand, when was the last time she was allowed to wander the halls without being treated like a psychotic serial killer one snap away from hacking everyone to bits?

So Lani stepped out and walked hurriedly down the too white hallways, her bare feet padding softly against the tiles. A smile spread across her face. She hadn't run in a long time, and since her legs were much too long, it felt right to run.

A laugh bubbled to her lips. Perhaps she really _was_ a psychotic serial killer one snap away from hacking everyone to bits. Laughing crazily just one moment and swinging around an axe the next; yes, that fit in with the profile. Mood swings, sure, at first, but when she actually _did_ hack someone? Serial killer alarm.

Not to say that she did. _She_ did that.

Lani slowed to a walk, the adrenaline leaving her only with a few short breaths in its place. Her lips pulled down in a scowl, no longer excited. _She _was the reason why she was here, why she was locked up, forced to live life in this way, why newspapers called her the next Lizzie Borden, why Mother and Father never bothered, why those poor eight had–

She couldn't even think it. And it was all because of _her_.

Insane? Ha. Ha, ha. Lani laughed loudly, the sound spilling out into the unusually empty hall, bouncing off the walls. _Insane?_ If there was anyone to be called _insane_ around here, it would be _her_.

Dreadful. How positively _dreadful_.

Spots dotted her vision suddenly and she frowned. What the-?

She collapsed as her head exploded with pain.

* * *

><p>Yup, so Lani makes a reappearance in this chapter (after, what, eight or something? -.-') and characters that weren't mentioned in Chapter Eight are going to be starred in Chapter Nine.<p>

Again, I'm really sorry about the hiatus thing. I hope you all understand.

**-fiir . verdepol**


End file.
